


Guilt and Relief

by Han502653



Series: A Hunter Family [6]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other chimera arc characters mentioned, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Shoot is on the good stuff and also pain, These characters are guilt-prone I swear, mostly comfort, right after the battle, some hurt and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han502653/pseuds/Han502653
Summary: In which Knuckle takes criticism hard and is not impressed by his performance in the battle.Meanwhile Shoot is just glad he didn’t get Knuckle killed, and is awed by everything Knuckle went through for him.





	Guilt and Relief

__Knuckle trudged through the hospital slowly. He wasn’t sure if he could have done it fast if he wanted to. His entire body felt like one big bruise, he was nauseous, his head throbbed, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he was so tired it _hurt_.

He’d been offered a room to sleep but he had declined. He needed to check up on everyone—he wouldn’t—no, he c _ouldn’t_ sleep until he had. The doctor had let him—had to really, the hospital was stretched thin. As many qualified doctors as possible had used Knov’s mansion to attempt to help the injured civilians—and what Knuckle had heard so far it was no surprise he was nauseous.

Large chunks of the civilian population had been irradiated—badly, enough so that they were already dying. Ikalgo, who had been with Palm, thought it had been from when Pouf had spread his scales on them after having been irradiated himself. Knuckle only knew that they had failed a million people.

He’d been with Meleoron while being looked over—he’d taken up the offer of sleep—and he’d already sat with Killua for a while as they awaited news on Gon before he’d been kicked out of that waiting room to –“Get some fucking sleep old man, you look like shit.”

That had left three people—and Knuckle felt sick at the idea of seeing any of them but he had pushed through it and limped his way to Morel’s room. He had found Knov there as well—he was glad they had each other—and also glad he was here because otherwise he had no idea where he would have found him.

It had been awkward—obviously Morel was far too exhausted to throw him out a window or at least scold him, which filled Knuckle with both relief and dread. He didn’t want to wait until that bomb dropped—find out just had badly he’d screwed up and the consequences of that—what if he didn’t want him to be his _student_ anymore—but he’d also wait forever if need be, Morel had looked horrible. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Knuckle slunk out soon after.

One person left.

One person who he was even _more_ terrified to see.

The last time he’d seen him he’s been a broken mess. Knuckle had no idea the true extent of his injuries other than _bad_. He had no idea what he was going to see when he stumbled into that room.

But dammit he did not let his fear control him and he trudged on up the flight of stairs—he didn’t deserve elevators—and to the end of the second hall.

He froze at the door, hand raised to knock, and watched as his hand shook with a displeased growl. Snarling he knocked twice and pushed the door open without waiting for any kind of response.

Good. Because he wouldn’t have gotten one.

Shoot was out. Bandages covered his form –from his head and hair to the extensive cast on his right leg lifted in the air. He was pale—paler—and splotched with extensive bruising that made Knuckle feel like a whiner in comparison.

The shaking in Knuckle’s hands spread to the rest of his body and Knuckle barely made it to the chair situated next to the bed before he collapsed. Grasping his hands together in an attempt to stop the god-damn- _shaking_ Knuckle couldn’t look away from Shoot’s prone form. He cursed as the first tear fell onto his leg, but didn’t bother to try and stop the tears as he finally bowed his head into his hands.

“Shit, Shoot,” he muttered. How many times had he’d almost gotten Shoot killed. Watching him be beat to nothing, running too far and letting Youpi head back towards him, not getting him medical attention immediately, leaving him alone when he couldn’t even move—“I’m _so_ sorry,” he whined through his teeth as his shoulders shook and the day hit him.

One million innocent people dead, failed. Morel and Shoot and Gon all significantly injured—his partner, his teacher, and the kid he’d all but trained. Morel pissed at him for good reason. Knov only just barely holding it together even now; Meleoron, Ikalgo and Killua lost and waiting, and Palm—he didn’t even _know_ about Palm.

He shook. He cried. And he wished to turn back time.

Maybe _then_ he wouldn’t have been such an _idiot._

 

Shoot woke slowly and disoriented. Nothing around him made any sense—to the point he wasn’t even sure he was truly awake. Colors faded in and out—and a buzzing drowned in his ears. He could feel—but mostly just the distant impression of pain.

He was alive though—and he remembered.

The plan—the battle—the fight. Inspired by Gon—pushing himself to act in a situation he hadn’t really believed he would or even could _ever_ be able to—the exhilaration of fighting all out with nothing to lose.

Or rather _everything_ to lose.

The bitter taste of failure— the fear of death—Knuckle…

Shoot felt his brows furrow. Yes, Knuckle had been there—he was part of the plan… but…

He’d shown himself… lured Youpi away. Then Youpi had returned. He remembered fearing Knuckle’s death and then fearing his. And then the bitter hit of wounded pride when he was disregarded as not a threat.

The relief at Knuckle’s return… the… the pain of being disregarded…Knuckle realizing that… everything else felt like a blur but… but…

Shoot’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep breath—one he regretted instantly as he cringed in pain. Knuckle had gone after _Youpi_ — _alone_ —because of _him_ —and _he_ hadn’t _stopped_ him. Knuckle!

A breath next to him stilled his raging heart—a good thing as it had started picking up on the monitor—and relief hit him harder than Youpi ever had. That breath—just short of a snore but quieter and a little nasally—he’d listened to that nearly every night for fourteen years.

Knuckle was okay. He was next to him. He was sleeping.

He _hadn’t_ gotten him killed.

At that moment that sound was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

He turned his head—it hurt, god it hurt—but he had to and he found Knuckle curled over backwards on a hospital chair, head nestled into his arms he’d rested on top. Shoot’s relief faded slightly as he took in the swelling of Knuckle’s fingers—the bruises he could see even in the dim light on his forehead and neck.

But he was alive. _Alive_ —showered and dressed and apparently not even _hospitalized_.

And here. With _him_.

Far too tired to bother attempting to right his head Shoot allowed his eyes to flutter close.

He was not sure if he slept or not. He was not sure if any time passed at all—but the next thing he noticed was as that nasally breath he’d been listening and clinging to, quickened and whined. He forced his eyes back open—forced them to focus—it was still dark in his room but he could see Knuckle’s features strained and clenched. His hands white with how hard they were gripping at his sleeves.

His heart panged. At least he thought it was his heart. He couldn’t really feel his body right then. He hoped that was because of the drugs.

He swallowed—now that he was paying attention his throat was beyond dry—and croaked out a sound that at an extreme stretch might have been Knuckle’s name.

None the less as he was attempting to make his throat work Knuckle snorted himself to reality—almost toppling off his chair only to hiss and hunch over—arms around his ribs.

Shoot’s brows furrowed in concern. He wondered just how injured Knuckle was under his oversized coat.

“Knuckle,” he tried again, and while croaky at least this time it was understandable.

Knuckle practically flung himself closer. His eyes went wide as they met Shoot’s. His lip trembled and with his face this close Shoot could see the tear stains under his red eyes. He’d been crying. “Knuckle?” he tried again, concern hopefully coating his voice. He was not really sure. The world was kind of swaying.

“Shoot,” he whispered with such relief and awe and happiness that Shoot had to swallow for an entirely different reason.

The two stared at each other until Shoot was feeling all kinds of warm and weird. He blinked once and with a lack of anything else to say, muttered, “hi?”

Knuckle blinked once and then all but shot himself from his chair, pouring some water into a glass. “Sorry, sorry, you must be thirsty,” he told him, turning back around only to freeze as he realized Shoot was lying on his back. “Um… are you?”

Well… he was. He nodded and attempted to sit up only to hiss and fall back.

“Ah, wait, let me—uh, here it is—” Shoot expected to feel Knuckle’s arms around him, helping him up— He was a very physical person after all—and may have pouted a little when he started leaning up through the remote on the bed. Then he paused as he realized _what_ he was thinking. He was shocked from that thought though by a glass against his lips, and he took a few small sips before he shook his head and Knuckle pulled it away.

Knuckle then lowered the bed. Which was probably for the best as Shoot’s stomach was aching even with the support.

“Better?” Knuckle asked nervously. Shoot glanced at him and nodded. He gave a relived smile and sat back into the chair. He didn’t offer anything more—seemingly half lost in thought and exhausted beside.

Shoot frowned slowly as he tried to go over what he knew had happened and how much he didn’t know hit him hard. One question poked at him in particular and he chewed on his lip in result.

He hated that he had to ask. He should have stopped Knuckle, but since Knuckle was here and alive, which _should_ be reward enough, his normally non-existent pride was demanding he know. “Knuckle?”

“Yeah, do you need anything?” He turned to Shoot looking somewhat panicked. “More water? Do you hurt? I can call a nurse—actually I probably _should_ call a nurse.”

Shoot felt warm at his concern but he shook his head minutely. “Did you hit him?”

Knuckle blinked at him for a long moment and for a second Shoot felt disappointed—not at Knuckle, that wouldn’t be fair, but at the situation. His mouth tasted sour.

Then Knuckle smiled. It met his eyes and softened the exhaustion and grief there. “Yeah. Eight times.”

Shoot stared at him. Stared for a long moment. Eight… times. He only managed _one_ proper hit. A warmth filled him as awe hit him.

“Cool,” was the best he could manage past the surge of emotions. Knuckle glanced at him bemused.

“Your high,” he smirked tiredly. He was probably right. Then Knuckle laughed somewhat humorlessly with a shrug, “And you can thank Killua for that really—he kind of paralyzed him for me…” he trailed off and looked grim for a long moment. Shoot watched him wary. Killua—He’d supposed to have been with Gon on Pitou. Had he going down so fast ruined the plan that much?

“What—” His voice cut out and he grunted in frustration. “What happened after…?”

“Oh!” Knuckle’s eyes went wide. “Shit, yeah. Everyone’s dead—Wait, no, I mean the king and all three of his guards are dead not _everyone_ but—well almost dead _I guess_ —Palm is making sure of it.”

Shoot’s head was already spinning. Palm, what? She was okay then? How and why was she the one making sure?

“And, um, all of us are alive…except for the Chairman but we kind of… well expected that would happen but um…” He sat back into the chair looking a bit grim. “Morel got hurt pretty bad— but he’ll be okay and um… Gon is in intensive care… I haven’t heard anything about him yet…” his voice trailed off and he looked forlorn. Shoot felt his own stomach churn. Gon was just a kid.

“It’s my fault,” Knuckle muttered. “I let him go alone with them.”

Shoot wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs or because Knuckle really wasn’t making much sense but he wasn’t really sure what Knuckle meant. None the less Knuckle was obviously hurting and he reached out without thinking—and ow that _hurt_ but at least he did in fact have his right arm still—and could feel it now even if he kind of wished he couldn’t.

He probably wouldn’t have managed to get to Knuckle—just lifting in a few inches made him tremble but Knuckle caught the movement and grasped it. “Careful you’ll hurt yourself,” he admonished and then stilled as Shoot squeezed his hand.

“You did your best,” he stated as fact, because it was a fact. Knuckle always did his best.

Knuckle didn’t refute him but he looked unconvinced. Shoot frowned and squeezed his hand harder. Words were hard. His brain was all fuzzy. He would probably have to wait until he was less high, which was a shame because his anxiety would surely be back by then.

It was kind of nice—this weird floaty, hazy, no-anxiety fog. Knuckle being upset wasn’t as nice.

“What happened…?” Shoot licked his cracked lips. “The last thing I remember was you suddenly grabbing me. I don’t…” He remembered more but in flashes and colors and confusion that he couldn’t really make out.

Knuckle was still holding his hand. That was nice. And he was rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it which was nicer. “Um… Youpi got angry enough that he exploded…literally. Once I got you far enough away from him I realized if I could wind him up, make him explode on my terms, control his reactions I could quickly make him waste Nen _and_ use the opening it made to get a punch in for you—”

Shoot smiled. Despite all the times he’d scolded Knuckle for his impatience and recklessness, Knuckle was incredibly good at reading situations. It was one for the reasons he’d been so sure enduring it was the only thing they could do—Knuckle had been unable to come up with a different probable plan of action.

Knuckle’s smile didn’t reach his eyes though. “Unfortunately he realized the same thing—in a moment figured out how to control his anger—how to pull his explosion. When I leapt for the opening he pulled it back and…” He trailed off and it took a minute but Shoot realized where that was heading and swallowed. Knuckle _had_ almost died for him. He would have been safe if it hadn’t been for his pride.

Knuckle squeezed his hand tightly for a moment. “Well then Killua showed up—electrocuted him or something—gave me the opening for the eight punches before I fled back. But uh…”

He paused and Shoot frowned.

“While I was gone Knov got some courage and showed up and took you away to get you medical attention,” he said strangely monotone.

Oh. Now that Knuckle mentioned it he did kind of remember waking to a too white room with people working over him. As well as shaking arms scooping him up, mummers of comfort as he struggled, a panicking heart under his ear.

“But...uh, he was gone by the time I got back so I didn’t know and um… I thought maybe Youpi had gotten to you… and uh, got pissed.”

His face went dark and Shoot’s stomach turned.

“But uh, thankfully by the time I found Youpi again he was fighting Morel—I don’t know what happened with Pouf just that he got away and Morel lost his pipe somewhere?—but uh, he had his troopers fighting him, and he must have noticed me since he’d turned them into me—and I remembered what he told me and managed to stop and think and realized there was no way Youpi would have taken you away bloodlessly like that. So I didn’t rush in and managed a kick to the face when an opening came up—” He smiled a little bit. “Sorry, that one goes to Morel, he looked pretty bad there.”

Shoot was just thankful that Morel had been there at all.

“We fought together for a little while. Potclean was almost done but Morel was too—without his pipe he was limited to those troopers and Youpi was destroying those fast and he couldn’t even seem to stand. I tried to get to him but Youpi was between us and…” He trailed off looking miserable. “Thankfully Meleoron was there and grabbed him just in time—but not until he managed a slash on Morel’s back and… that left a blood trail.”

He paused for a long moment. If Knuckle hadn’t mentioned that Morel was alive and okay Shoot would have worried, as is he was confused.

“Knuckle?”

“Youpi said that if I released Potclean he’d spare Morel.”

“Oh.”

“I…I…I couldn’t do it, Shoot. Morel even got Meleoron to let him go to tell me not to but… I couldn’t _do_ it.”

He ducked his head and tried to drop his hand—as if he didn’t deserve it. Shoot held on tightly and let out a slight hiss at having to hold it up himself and Knuckle instantly re-gripped it to save him the pain. Silly man.

“Morel was so mad—when Knov came to take him away he was _so_ mad, I… I’ve never seen him that mad but I couldn’t…I couldn’t.” He sounded like he was going to cry again and Shoot felt like if he did he would too.

“Morel’s alive and Youpi is dead,” Shoot said as he shook his hand slightly. Knuckle’s lip quirked and the tears didn’t come but again it didn’t reach his eyes. Shoot sighed. “You should sleep.”

“Yeah,” Knuckle agreed without moving.

Shoot didn’t want him to leave either but he pulled at his hand a little. “In a real bed.”

Knuckle pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “I should get you a nurse. Should have once you woke up.” He stood, ignored Shoot’s glare, and gently placed his arm back where it had been. Shoot rather brazenly mourned the loss of contact as Knuckle stuck his head out the door and then stepped out entirely.

He was back almost instantly with a nurse who puttered around him asking about pain and thirst and other things Shoot could barely bring himself to care about. Mostly he watched Knuckle— silhouetted by the open door but not moving until the nurse patted his shoulder and made to leave herself.

“Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep,” she tsked as she noticed Knuckle standing there. “Your friend will be alright now.”

Knuckle shrugged to Shoot’s annoyance. “I’ll be alright—I’ve slept in worse places.”

The nurse didn’t seem all that happy either. She tried to stare down Knuckle but Knuckle had a stubborn streak a mile wide and didn’t budge. She sighed. “You’re lucky I’m head nurse on this floor, come help me, boy.”

Knuckle blinked, but a plea of help got him to move unlike a plea to his health. He followed and Shoot blinked blearily at the doorway until they returned, Knuckle lugging what looked like a cot mattress with him.

“—and you’re lucky your Hunter rooms are bigger than most, otherwise we wouldn’t have room for this _and_ getting to your friends should something go wrong—Don’t look at me like that boy, I’m not saying it _will_ but you must always be prepared just in case, this _is_ a hospital.” Shoot blinked as she motioned to where Knuckle should place the bed. Then she passed him the pillow and blanket she’d been carrying. “Now sleep, boy, you look horrible.”

Knuckle made a face, but smiled slightly over to Shoot before he nudged his shoes off and lowered himself gingerly onto the mattress. Before he got comfortable though he paused and looked up to the nurse.

“Ah… down a floor, room 405, Morel Mackernasey —they might appreciate another mattress too…”

The nurse’s stern look softened and she patted his shoulder. “You’re a good boy. I’ll look into it, now get some sleep.” She glanced over at Shoot who blinked slowly. “Both of you.”

She left in a slightly exaggerated huff and Knuckle let out a somewhat hysterical giggle that almost set Shoot off. Shoot smiled as Knuckle’s giggles tittered out.

“Night, Shoot,” he muttered on the cusp of sleep.

Shoot allowed his eyes to close properly and smiled wider. Things were okay—Knuckle was okay—going to sleep next to him like always.

“Night Knuckle.”


End file.
